Summer Lovin'
by TheChicaChic
Summary: He lies across the cotton sheet, body bare save for a thin pair of white briefs. His left arm is behind his head, hand cupping the base of his skull as he stares wide eyed at the ceiling. Sleep alludes him in the oppressive summer heat, seemingly pressing against him in the low-lit bedroom, and as he turns his head to the window...a one-shot set after series 8 but there's no George


_**AN: Alright, I apparently lied when I said I was going to finish '12 Months' before writing anything else, but rosetintedblindspot shared a very lovely pictures of PF lying on a bed in nothing but white briefs with me, and well, unsurprisingly, I couldn't get it out of my bed. This is the result of that. It's a bit...silly in parts, but hey, silly is fun!**_

_**Oh, and this is set later in the series, though George isn't who you know him as. ^^**_

* * *

**Present**

He lies across the cotton sheet, body bare save for a thin pair of white briefs. His left arm is behind his head, hand cupping the base of his skull as he stares wide eyed at the ceiling. Sleep alludes him in the oppressive summer heat, seemingly pressing against him in the low-lit bedroom, and as he turns his head to the window, he hopes to see the curtains rustling, but there's no such luck. With a sigh, he shifts, right hand coming to lie against his paunch as he tries to think of something other than the heat.

Penguins marching across Antarctic ice.

Ocean breezes ruffling hair.

Ruth glaring across the Grid.

The last has him sighing.

For six days, his fiancé has done little more than interact with him professionally when needed, the rest of the time, she either ignored him or glared at him across the vast space of the Grid. And he was unsure how exactly to make things right between them.

It had begun with what can only be described as an innocent question early one morning as they were dressing for work; would she like to have lunch at the new cafe down the street from Thames House. He'd waited for an answer, leaning against the footboard of his bed, cup of coffee in his hands as he watched her rush around the room, putting on make-up and putting in earrings. As she'd taken a sip of his coffee, she had shaken her head no, telling him she'd not have the time with the new batch of threat assessments coming from across the river.

And so he had mentioned bringing in a second analyst; something he had been working on anyway as the ongoing increase in domestic threats was making it impossible for the current team to keep up with.

She'd blown it off with a quick no and a peck of the lips, a smile forced on her face as she told him she could handle her job.

Three hours later, the potential senior analyst he'd seconded from GCHQ had come through the PODs to the delight of the male population. During her interview, he'd noticed she was a beautiful woman, but truthfully, that had only been a passing thought as no female aside from Ruth stood a chance with him. He'd introduced Annabel to the team, somehow missing the frosty reception Ruth has bestowed upon her.

And him.

But it had been made abundantly clear when Dmitri had stupidly thanked her for not being able to keep up with the assessments and other work, all the while ogling the red head settling in across the Grid.

They'd argued, about what exactly, he still wasn't fully sure of, and she'd sulked off in a huff, avoiding not only him but Dmitri as well for the rest of the day, opting to stay in her rarely used room in the shared flat with Beth.

Where she's been for six days now.

He misses her.

Misses waking with her feet tucked between his calves, the rest of her spread across three quarters of the bed.

Misses watching her run around every morning, attempting to do three things at once so as not to be late because she hadn't wanted to get out of bed.

Misses listening to her muttering about the lack of quality control at The Times office when she finds a wrong answer in the cross word puzzle.

And yes, he misses the sex.

The last thought does little to cool him as her image fills his mind. Hair pulled up in a loose bun, accenting the long lines of her neck. The light weight cotton shirt molding to her petit frame, the shadow of her favorite cotton bra visible in the right light; her legs bare and on display in the thigh-length cotton skirt she'd worn to combat the 34 degree high. Every male in the section had stared in wonder when she'd stepped onto the grid, showing more skin than she'd ever revealed at the office, and he'd been torn between sending her home for frumpier clothes and pinning her to the wall of his office.

He'd done neither.

Had fought against the urge to summon her to his office to beg for forgiveness; an apology that ended with him pressing her into the wall, those bare legs wrapped around his waist as he reclaimed her. The moist heat of her center pulling him deeper, sweat fusing their bodies...

He groans, hand sliding in his briefs to wrap firmly around his erection. Slowly, he begins moving his closed hand along his shaft, hips raising slightly with each pass, his mind locked in the fantasy of Ruth as he soon comes with a low moan. His body slack, he knows sleep is near when a voice has his eyes opening and looking at the door.

"Guess I got here too late."

* * *

**40 minutes before**

She lies in the big, empty bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what Harry is doing. The air is warm, a small fan in the window doing nothing to cool the night air, and for a minute, she contemplates removing the camisole and cotton knickers she's put on after a luke-warm shower, but propriety has her vetoing the idea.

This isn't home; not anymore; and the thought of trying to sleep in the nude in a room without Harry doesn't appeal to her.

Unlike Harry, she knows that it's not he who needs to apologize, but rather she, and yet, wounded pride won't let her utter those three words, eight letters.

I am sorry.

He'd only been doing his job as section head when he'd brought in Annabel, she knows that; just as she knows he has absolutely no interest in the leggy ginger. However, admitting that she overreacted is even more difficult than admitting she really does need the help he knowingly brought it. Both make her feel somehow inferior.

And so here she is, spending yet another night away from the man she loves.

Hot.

Sticky.

Frustrated.

All in more ways than one.

Beth had left hours before, dressed in a barely there dress and six inch stilettos with a breezy don't wait up. Ruth had eaten a limp salad for dinner, and then spent the evening packing the meager few belongings she'd somehow missed moving to their; no - _Harry's_; house. Well, that had been her intention, however between the stifling heat, scant few items, and the memories of Harry wandering around the office jacketless, tieless, and with that incredibly sexy pout each time his gaze settled on her, those plans had gotten waylaid.

Instead, she'd settled for a long shower, hoping the cool water would dampen the need. While it _had_ cooled her skin down momentarily, a running montage of Harry had her flopping across the blanket free bed, becoming more and more turned on with each fantasy of Harry, his tie, and that pout.

With a frustrated growl, she pounds the bed with a closed fist and sits up, shifting to the edge with all intentions of another cool shower. Bumping the wobbly nightstand, she knocks the necklace she had set upon it to the floor, and with a sigh, she bends down to retrieve it. Smiling at the delicate chain Harry had given her, she pulls open the drawer, intent on putting the jewelry somewhere safe till morning. As the wood creaks, she freezes, gaze settling on the long forgotten object inside.

Setting the necklace aside, she hesitantly reaches for pliable rubber; not out of embarrassment, but from guilt. She had been single for a long time before Harry, and the phallus shaped...toy...had been a close companion. Even contemplating using it again felt akin to cheating. And yet, she's loath to leave the bed.

Fingers autonomously closing around the base, she slides back on the bed until she's half leaning against the headboard. It's been at least a year since she last had need for George and so the probability that the batteries still work is slim. Shifting about until she's comfortable, she closes her eyes, breathing deeply as she summons the image of Harry from the Grid today.

Gray trousers. Crisp white shirt, top two buttons undone. Sleeves rolled up. Forehead wrinkled in intense concentration as he reads through some file. Fingers drumming absentmindedly on his desk.

It doesn't take much thought for the file to be replaced with her taut body, legs draped over his shoulders as those fingers drum within her, stroking her inner walls, nose brushing her folds as he leisurely caresses her clitoris with his tongue. Vaguely, she's aware of moving the material of her knickers aside as she slowly starts running the silicone through the moist curls, the cool toy a contrast to the warmth.

Fingers fumbling for the on button, Ruth's surprised when it begins to vibrate. There's still life in George after all.

A tense relief fills her as she adjusts the speed, gradually increasing it to match the humming of her body as fantasy Harry increases his ministrations, building her need. She can feel herself reaching the crest, toes curled into the cotton sheet, thighs tight, lower lip caught between her teeth, hips raising with each pass of the vibrator when it happens.

The batteries have died.

Groaning she twists the battery cover, shaking it with hope.

No luck.

Eyes opening, she drunkenly rolls to her side, groping in the open drawer in the hope that a fresh pair is somehow lurking there. Fingers grasping in the corners, she growls in frustration and flops back against the pillow, body still tight with need as she slides her hand in her knickers. She closes her eyes as she strokes herself, hoping to satisfy the ache.

With a growl, she pulls her hand free and stares at the ceiling.

It's no use. Fantasy Harry is gone, and with him, the delicious orgasm he'd been building in her.

There's only one solution.

* * *

**Present**

Stopping in the doorway to their bedroom, she watches as he silently fists his hand along his erection, the fabric of the tight briefs moving with each pump. He's close, she can see that with how taut his body is, and as she pulls the t-shirt she'd put on to come home over her head, he comes. A smile pulls at her lips as he groans her name, and she drops the damp material to the floor. As his hand stills, she shakes her head, the sexual frustration she had felt before has doubled, and she knows any chance of relief is some time off as he'll need time to recover.

"Guess I got here too late," she mutters, pushing down her shorts to join her shirt.

"Ruth?" is voice is hazy as he lifts his head, blearily looking at her as though she's part of his fantasy.

Crossing the room, she slides onto the bed next to him, just stopping at curling into him. It's too warm for skin on skin contact - at least for the sleep she knows is settling over him. Murmuring his name, she leans forward, brushing her mouth against his is the lightest of kisses before lying on her back. Closing her eyes, she tries to relax, breathing deeply as she wonders why he's lying here in the heat when she knows there's a perfectly good air conditioner he could turn on.

The mattress besides her shifts, the skin of his knee brushing her leg as he turns on his side, and she doesn't have to open her eyes to know he's going to sleep. There'll be time in the morning to apologize for her overreaction, and hopefully by then, the deep ache between her legs will have subsided. She's startled from her thoughts by his hand sliding down her stomach and into her knickers. Eyes opening, she gasps as he slides a finger between her folds, and turning, she looks at him.

He's propped on his side, eyes wide and burning into hers as he supports his head with his hand. The other is between her legs, unhurriedly stroking her moist heat.

"Harry," she gasps, squirming in pleasure. "Wha...you were going to sleep," she manages to get out between gasps.

"Hmm," he murmurs, shifting closers until he's pressed against her side, the damp material of his briefs pressing into her leg as his mouth wraps around her ear. Teeth nipping the lobe, he continues to stroke her as his warm breath rushes against her skin. "I could smell you."

With that, he slides two fingers into her, palm pressing against her clitoris as he curls them against her front wall. Quicker now, and with firmer pressure, he presses against her g-spot, suddenly pushing her over the peak she's been lingering by for the last hour, and as white fills her vision, she grasps the sheet.

Sometime later, as she slowly comes back to herself, she wonders momentarily if she imagined him. Opening her eyes, she blinks at the ceiling, smiling as she realizes a) it's their bedroom and b) she's somehow come to be completely naked. Turning, she finds him watching her, briefs gone to reveal the semi-erection he's now sporting as he sucks on his fingers.

"Hello," he says, smiling as he moves over her.

"Hi," she whispers, lifting her fingers to brush against his cheek. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." Lowering himself, he presses against her, lovingly kissing her as she tangles a hand in his damp hair. "And I'm sorry," he murmurs against her mouth, eyes wide and honest as he watches her.

"No," she says, wrapping both arms around his neck, "I'm sorry. My pride wouldn't admit you were right."

Grinning now, he presses kisses against her face, his now full erection pressing against her center. "I love you."

"Hmm," she says, lifting her hips to press against him. "Prove it."

* * *

_**AN: Hopefully you've enjoyed, or at least aren't too put off by this little one-shot. If you've a moment or two, please leave a review and let me know what you thought; good or bad.**_


End file.
